


What Are You Waiting For?

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas Richardson had his pick of anyone, literally any person on campus, to spend his time with and for the third time in as many weeks he’d picked Martin for reasons that escaped everyone including Martin Crieff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Are You Waiting For?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous member of the fandot who requested a Martin/Douglas piece based on [this GIF](http://31.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0ji6yHzDQ1qd5k8xo1_500.gif) (totally SFW).

Martin hung back with his hands tucked into the pockets of his too large sweatshirt, watching Douglas Richardson lean against a pillar as he tried to figure out where the night was going.

They’d done this three times now, he and Douglas Richardson, the third year medical student that everyone on campus seemed to know or, at least, know of. He was fairly infamous, a fact proven by the seemingly endless string of women that claimed to have been with him, but still relatively well-liked; he was popular in countless social circles covering all interests, affiliations, and areas of study. He had his pick of anyone, literally any person on campus, to spend his time with and for the third time in as many weeks he’d picked Martin for reasons that escaped everyone including Martin Crieff.

Martin watched Douglas push a hand through his hair, hair that’d been discussed at length by the two women sitting behind him in his maths class, forcing his eyes down to his shoes when he saw Douglas look back at him.

They’d come from a party hosted by people who’d probably never voluntarily talk to Martin in the light of day, even if they were on fire and he was the only one who could call for help. Douglas knew, and even if he hadn’t Martin told him as they walked up to the house, but he seemed to have no qualm showing up with Martin in tow. He’d been instantly accepted, an act Martin knew was all due to being at Douglas’ side, but it still felt weird; after an hour of drinks, football debates, and drunken dance mocking, Martin asked if they could leave and, to his surprise, Douglas agreed without a second thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Douglas said, drawing Martin’s head back up. The corner of his mouth turned up as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m willing to go up to a pound if they’re good.”

“Why’d we leave?”

“The party?” Martin nodded, idly rocking back on his heels. “You asked if we could,” Douglas said as if he thought the answer was obvious.

Martin noted the way he stiffened against the pillar. Douglas seemed to tense up whenever something caught him off guard or didn’t go according to plan, like he was being forced to reevaluate the whole situation in a moment; he’d reacted the same way when he took Martin out for curry only to learn that Martin really didn’t do well with spicy foods.

“But you wanted to be there,” he said, gesturing towards Douglas with his pocketed hands.

“There’ll be other parties,” Douglas shrugged. “Besides, it’d already peaked; once Shipwright starts singing opera, the party’s pretty much over,” he laughed, shaking his head, relaxing visibly.

“Does he always do that?”

“After a certain level of drunkenness, yes,” Douglas confirmed, “but it doesn’t take a lot to convince Hercules to sing. I’ve joined him on one or two occasions but I try not to given his penchant for choosing high surfaces as his stages.”

“I still can’t believe Carolyn caught him,” Martin said, his head shaking a little in disbelief.

Douglas shrugged again, just one shoulder, as his gaze dropped away from Martin. “I’ve seen her do it many times; it’s like she’s got a sixth sense for when he’s doing something stupid.”

“I’d like to hear you sing,” Martin commented. He was sure Douglas was an excellent singer; he seemed to be excellent at everything.

Douglas raised his eyes, meeting Martin’s with a smile that wasn’t quite like the one he gave everyone else. It was softer, more sincere, and it kept Martin up at night trying to figure out what it meant.

“Maybe if you were there to catch me.”

Martin balled his hands into fists and bit his tongue to keep from groaning out loud as he turned away in frustration. He was bad at this, he knew he was, but Douglas kept saying and doing things that seemed to scream _‘I like you’_ and Martin, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out why. Why would Douglas Richardson, of all people, be sending him those signals? And if, for some inexplicable reason, he really meant it, why did he do nothing but tease and hint and wait?

_What the hell was he waiting for?_

“Martin?”

Martin turned back, his frustration vanishing when he saw Douglas watching him. He’d dropped his arms and had both thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jeans, bringing his broad shoulders down into a slump. Whether conscious or not, he was leaning forward with his head bent down a little and Martin could almost see his question hanging in the air between them.

_‘Do you like me?’_

Martin stood stunned, sure that his mouth hung open but lacking the mental power to close it. It’d never occurred to him that Douglas, Douglas Richardson, a student who was more God than man, wouldn’t know how Martin felt about him. Then again, Martin didn’t know what it was like to be infamous, surrounded at all times by people who said they liked you; it must’ve been hard to sort through all the ones that said to find the ones that _actually_ did.

Douglas didn’t move as Martin took a few steps forward. He didn’t stiffen, he didn’t tense; he waited. He waited for Martin to answer, to make the first move, to act of his own accord which, Martin guessed, would provide the reassurance Douglas needed.

Martin closed the distance between them, accidentally overshooting the length and stepping on Douglas’ foot. He let his momentum carry him past embarrassment, skipping the stuttered apology all together, and freed his hands to pull Douglas down to his kiss. Hands found his waist seconds after their lips touched, pulling him into Douglas’ arms and up against Douglas’ warm, firm chest; embarrassment would’ve caught up to him by then had Martin not gotten lost in Douglas’ touch.

The rumors and retellings were nothing compared to the actual experience of kissing Douglas Richardson. He was gentle, rough, teasing, and thorough all in perfect succession and even, sometimes, all at once. He kissed with such a single-minded purpose that Martin’s body threatened to embarrass him when he thought of how that purpose would be applied to other things.

A mutual need for air eventually broke them apart. Martin rest his head on Douglas’ chest, his hands still clenched in Douglas’ shirt as he listened to their breathing fall into a matching pace. Douglas’ arms stayed around him long after their respiration had evened out and Martin felt a kiss being pressed into his hair.

He pulled back to look at Douglas, his heartstrings all but yanked out by the sight of Douglas’ soft smile. It was much easier to appreciate now that he knew what it meant.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he said, smoothing his hands over Douglas’ chest.

“Come back to mine?” Douglas asked, showing hints of hesitancy that Martin guessed few had ever seen.

“That’s worth at least a pound,” he smiled.

Douglas laughed and Martin basked in the warmth and ease of it, feeling and listening to the laughter rumble in Douglas’ chest. He pushed himself up on his toes to kiss Douglas again.

“Yes,” he added for good measure, making it explicitly clear where the night was going.


End file.
